


Stars (Interlude)

by natashaisalostcase



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Based on an Among Us Game, Constellations, Cute, Cute GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Eyes, Fluff, Flustered Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Gay, Hugs, Inspired by Music, Inspired by Real Events, LGBTQ Themes, M/M, Mild Language, No Smut, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Not Beta Read, Oblivious GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Oneshot, Pining, Pining Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), References to Ancient Greek Religion & Lore, References to God(s), Slow Romance, Stargazing, Staring, Stars, Sweet, dream is a simp, dream is smitten, dream is whipped, hand holding, i dont know anything bout greek gods btw im bullshitting it all, pining really hard tbh, soft and sweet, that moment they had on stream
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-16
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-18 15:00:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29491701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/natashaisalostcase/pseuds/natashaisalostcase
Summary: George’s eyes squint uncomfortably as he moves his wrist again, and Dream prepares for a verbal storm from him, ready for George to belittle him, rip his hand away, run and never come back.But, he doesn’t.Miraculously, George’s fingers interlink with his, slipping his nimble fingers between the gaps of Dream larger ones.George looks at him, cheeks pink, “This feels better.”
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 32
Kudos: 122





	Stars (Interlude)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [eren_r](https://archiveofourown.org/users/eren_r/gifts).



> hi! listen to stars (interlude) by killkiyoshi to get the vibe of this yuhhh

_ maybe he got lost in all the stars...  _

“Look,” George gazes up in wonder, “We’re in the stars.”

Dream instinctively steps closer, gazing at the reflections in George’s eyes rather than the stars themself. He feels himself nodding, and he’s losing himself in George’s eyes. They sparkle so nicely under the painter’s canvas, vast and freckled with ivory. 

His breath manages to get stuck in his throat, feet planted firmly onto the ground. He can’t tear his eyes away from George’s, he can’t stop swimming in mahogany pools of crystal constellations. He feels paralysed. Unable to do anything but stand and adore. 

Dream draws in closer, and is too caught up in the other’s eyes to notice their hands, a hair’s width apart. 

He stares, because it’s all he can do in that moment. 

He feels like he’s been turned into a wax statue, graced by the hand of God, doomed to be still. 

But their hands brush before Dream can think rationally. It’s a barely-there touch, but it screams on his skin like a third-degree burn. He worriedly pulls his hand back, as though he’s been seared. The wax of the statue melts, the hand of God lifts, he finds himself able to move again. So he moves back, and George laughs. 

“Don’t get too close,” the brunet teases, further distancing himself from Dream by a small step. 

Dream wants to reach out for his hand again, he wants to be burned, he wants it to scar. But he laughs scratchily, “I— I backed up, I backed up,” he says, and he wants to believe that George’s willing to burn him again. 

When George doesn’t show any indication of lingering as close to Dream as before, the latter brokenly stares at his shoes. 

The fire in George crackles from under the pale skin, it beckons. It’s like Dream is a moth, and George is the flame. It calls for him, and all Dream can do is answer. 

But he doesn’t. 

Instead, he looks at George’s eyes again, wanting to catch the swallowed stars shining against umber skies. However, George’s turned away now. He’s facing the other way. Dream dreads it’s intentional. 

_ solar spectrums shattered in his arms... _

Dream’s hand twitches, wanting to reach out and feel the fire again. And he’s almost swallowed by selfish desire, he’s almost waltzing in lakes of want. He almost thinks with his heart rather than his head. He’s a step away from taking that plunge, from shooting his hand out and lacing his fingers with George’s, but he catches himself. 

He stops himself from diving off that cliff, and instead he focuses on the stars. 

It feels wrong to look at them so raw, he feels like they don’t hold the same shine if not reflected in George’s eyes. 

A deep breath in, and green eyes flitter over to brown ones, once again mesmerised by speckles of ivory on polished wood. 

“They’re beautiful,” Dream says quietly, throat raspy. He means the way the dots of light glint on glossy chocolate eyes, he means the way George’s eyes hold so much wonder, he means George, and every aspect of him. George is beautiful. 

George nods and turns to look at him, pupils small as they lock with Dream’s. Dream watches, enticed, as the size of George’s pupil slowly grows, enlarging as they look at each other and away from the light. 

Once again, Dream feels paralysed. He wonders if he can move back to his spot beside George, and without a chance for the thought to process in his mind, his heartstrings tug at his legs and move him forward. 

Why can’t he control himself around George? His brain is smothered by the weight and requests of his heart, and he can’t control as he follows through. 

George pays no mind, of course. Sweet, oblivious George. He barely notices. He turns back to the night sky, and he says with a smile, “It’s so cool up here.”

_ hearts of gold could never get that far... _

Dream wants to shoot a hand out and grab his chin, make them lock eyes again. But his heart beats loudly in protest, refusing to carry out the action. But he doesn’t miss the way his fingers flutter at his sides, begging to want to be able to touch George’s face, cup his cheeks gently and continue looking in his eyes. 

He silently wonders when he had become so enamoured. 

Dream gulps loudly, and the other definitely hears. George’s glances at Dream, “Hm?”

Dream looks away from his eyes, “Nothing.”

George questions him with a subtle eyebrow raise, but keeps his lips sealed and goes back to gazing wondrously. Dream internally thanks him, and he briefly entertains the idea of telling George how gorgeous his eyes are. 

Dream soaks in his face for must have been the twelfth time that day. From his perfectly curved nose, to his cheekbones, to his eyebrows and right back to his eyes. 

Oh, how the deep oceans of mocha call for him, how he wants to delve as deep as possible into the other. He wants to stare until his eyes are incapable of staring, he wants to stare until his eyes grow tired, he wants to stare and never stop staring. 

George’s eyes hold the stars as if they’d been crafted for one another. Fitting so perfectly upon surfaces of spruce. 

Dream slips, “Your eyes are gorgeous.”

The brunet looks at him, a brow quirked, “Huh?” 

Dream doesn’t repeat, and opts to look back at the stars. 

George hums, confused, “Hm.” and looks down at his hands, bringing them up to his face and cupping them in front of his nose. His cheeks, nose and ears are barely dusted pink, but he huffs warm air onto his palms and rubs them together. “Cold, right?”

Dream blinks and brings his gaze back down to the other, who’s grinning widely. 

“Yeah,” he agrees.

_ visions of the past created sparks... _

Their eyes stay in mutual gaze, and Dream realises something.

It’s shocking how he hadn’t noticed earlier, if he’s being honest. He favours George’s brown eyes over Sapnap’s, George’s eyes simply hold more wonder, they’re warmer, sweeter, softer. But at the end of the day, both of their eyes are brown, and Dream finally comes to a conclusion. A conclusion that shouldn’t be as surprising as it is.

So it’s in that moment, Dream realises that he’s head over heels for the brit in front of him. 

Dream breaks their shared stares, looking at the sky. His mind faintly runs over knowledge contained in books he had once read, and he thinks he can trace over a constellation with his eyes. 

Will the constellations shine brighter in George’s eyes?

“George,” Dream murmurs, and he immediately wants to backtrack. Phantom hands shield his brain and cut off the connection to his mouth. His heart seems to do all his talking, and he scrambles to catch himself as he feels his shame present itself by the visions of scattered light.

“Yeah?”

And now, he knows that he’s royally fucked up, as he stammers, “Can— Can I look at the stars? From— Fuck, forget it, never mind.”

“From?” George prods. 

“Forget it,” Dream shallowly laughs, “Seriously.”

“Dream.” George insists, “Tell me.”

Dream shakes his head, “No, no, it’s fine.”

“Dream,” George petulantly whines, “Just tell me.”

The blond glances to the side, looking away. George drops the question, sighing as he accepts the silence. 

_ elevate your mind with your own finds... _

Dream feels like he’s broken the atmosphere he’s created. 

Adoration drains from the air like flushed whirlpools, whisking away the soft whispers and the lingering fondness that hovered in the air. Dream’s head spins, and his eyes sting with the welcome of unshed tears. He dryly swallows. 

In a flurry of desperation, his hand jerks out.

His heart has grown ropes, woven tightly around his bones and commanding every movement with sudden yanks. When around George, his brain is almost rendered powerless, idle and desolate. His heart takes over, lurching his body forward, backwards, wherever George is. His heart follows George, all against his better judgement. 

Somewhere, from the depths of his mind, he remembers the tale of Icarus. Him, a statue formed of wax, delicately crafted and presented before George, the blazing sun, a fire, a fury that takes and takes, knowing no bounds and melting Dream. 

Dream plunges, melted and seared, ablaze and forever falling through the sky as George incinerates him with his burning eyes.

Dream’s hand engulfs George’s, and he mentally curses his heartstrings, feeling like a puppet. 

_ make it matter for the cause, it’s not your fault… _

George’s thin fingers wriggle uncomfortably in his own, twisting his wrist in Dream’s hand. 

Dream doesn’t want to accept the shame, he doesn’t want to let go - George’s skin feels so good against his own.

It radiates the perfect warmth that reverberates through Dream’s body so carefully, palm soft and uncalloused, flawless. They feel crafted by Aphrodite, the ridges and curves of his hand so perfect and intricate, so beautiful.

Dream wants to believe that they were crafted for him only to hold, that they wouldn’t fit in anybody else’s hand as well as they do in his own. 

George’s eyes squint uncomfortably as he moves his wrist again, and Dream prepares for a verbal storm from him, ready for George to belittle him, rip his hand away, run and never come back.

But, he doesn’t.

Miraculously, George’s fingers interlink with his, slipping his nimble fingers between the gaps of Dream larger ones. 

George looks at him, cheeks pink, “This feels better.”

_ illustrate what you want, it's all on you… _

The breath escapes Dream’s lungs as he nods, winded. 

He loses himself in George’s eyes again, but this time, George welcomes him with an unfaltering gaze. 

The stars shine so gorgeously, so inviting, and Dream feels his heart thump loudy in his ears. It beats erratically, then melts and runs down his arm, seeping into his fingertips and making him raise his free hand to cup George’s face. 

Dream curses, feeling George’s cheek cupped in his hand, but he softly rolls the skin under his thumb anyway.

George chuckles, leaning into the touch and places a hand atop his. Warm, pale fingers curl around the hand on his cheek, so gentle and sweet. 

A breath is sucked in, and Dream’s hand is pulled off of George’s cheek. Dream thinks he can hear his heart break as he whispers, “I’m sorry if that made you uncomfortable.”

If George hears it, then he pretends like he doesn’t. Instead, he evades it by asking, “What were you going to ask me earlier?”

“To see the stars,” Dream speaks up without hesitation, voice dangerously quiet, “Through your eyes.”

George leans forward, the tip of his nose ghosting over Dream’s, and he looks into his eyes, “Like this?”

“Yes,” Dream breathes.

_ it’s all on you…  _

The stars drown in muted cinnamon, so fascinating as they frolic in fields of syrupy brown. Stellar canvases littering honeyed eyes, framed by thick eyelashes, a gliding hand against his own, and Dream feels like he could faint.

Dream’s eyes seem frenzied as they greedily jump to absorb every inch of constellations spread out in George’s eyes, and he leans closer until their noses bump. But George doesn’t seem to mind as he lets out a breathy laugh.

Dream gapes in wonder, muttering phrases of praise to the skies.

George smiles, “How do the stars look?”

With a speechless shake of his head, and a stammer of vowels, the blond responds, “I… I—I… Woah, I… They’re so beautiful.”

George nods at the answer, approvingly, and looks away from the intensity of Dream’s stare, hand slipping from his.

_ you’ve travelled back from hell and made it work (made it work)…  _

George steps back and turns to the side to look at the stars again, side profile on display. Dream admires the curvature of his nose, perfect and slanted, round at the tip. 

He worries that he may have made George uncomfortable, he decides against a verbal apology and guiltily watches the stars above.

The younger inhales deeply, cold air filling his lungs, as he contemplates the thought of deity that had been long-buried in his mind. The name Astraeus doesn’t bring him the comfort he seeks, it doesn’t feel right. It seems too distant, too far away to even be considered similar to George. The eyes simply hold a place in his eyes, they enhance the stunning brown rather than overpower. 

His mind runs with possible identities, before suddenly settling on Adonis. It makes sense, to him, George holds all the beauty possible, he wears his beauty unfalteringly, face constantly shining with spilling streaks of blinding delight. His sculpted cheekbones and jaw, the fond creasing in the corners of his eyes everytime he smiles, the fine arch of his eyebrows.

_ you’ve poured out all your love to make it real (make it real) _ ... 

Dream sighs, cursing himself internally. 

“I can hear you thinking,” George muses with a shake of his head. Dream hunches in on himself. 

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” George waves his hand dismissively, “What’s on your mind?”

Dream stays silent for a moment, averting his gaze from the night sky to his shoes, he fidgets unsteadily, fiddles with the hem of his sleeve before finally meeting George’s concerned eyes, “Um— you.”

George blinks, “Me?”

“Mhm,” Dream shakily hums, and flushes pink, “That was weird, I’m sorry.”

George places a reassuring hand on his shoulder, “No, no. It wasn’t.”

“I… I don’t know— I’m...” Dream sputters, “... Fuck, um,” he laughs, “Sorry.”

George laughs along with him, and slides his hand down Dream’s arm, locking their fingers again, “Don’t be sorry, idiot.”

Dream grins and has to stop himself from apologising again, squeezing George’s hand in earnest. 

_ trust is necessary for the leap (for the leap) _ ... 

George holds his other wrist with his unoccupied hand and brings it up to brush his jaw. Dream tilts his head in confusion. The brunet rolls his eyes and maneuvers the hand hand in his grasp to slot under his chin, and looks into his eyes.

“How do the stars look?” George whispers, eyes twinkling.

Dream leans forward and presses their foreheads together. A fond laugh bubbles up his throat, “They look ethereal.”

George remains silent, and Dream watches his eyelids drop slightly, gaze soft, he unintentionally mirrors him. Their slow blinks are barely processed, and Dream can feel puffs of light breath on his lips. His hand tightens around George’s jaw, and George tightens the hand on his wrist as well as the hand in his in response. 

“Perseus,” Dream murmurs, “In your eyes.”

“What’s that?” George asks gently.

“Constellation.” 

“Hm.” 

Dream breathes deeply and flickers his eyes back and forth. “Wow.”

George smiles and closes his eyes, leaning his head to fall on Dream’s shoulder and moving his hands to wrap around him.

Dream stands, shellshocked, but raises his arms and encompasses the older man in his arms.

_ let them lead the way right to your dreams... _


End file.
